


Once Upon a Snowy Mountain

by Jolien



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Dating, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Fun, M/M, Rollerblading, Smut, Vasquez is laughing hysterically in the background, side character romance, very explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 17:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17126036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jolien/pseuds/Jolien
Summary: Sam and Goodnight have been friends for forever. Now they're determined to give dating a try - no matter how terrifying it's going to be.





	Once Upon a Snowy Mountain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keycchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keycchan/gifts).



“Why,” Goodnight whined. He clung to the edge of the rink so hard his knuckles were turning white. “Why are you making me do this? This is supposed to be a date. We’re supposed to have _fun_.”

It was a terrible thing not to be able to trust one’s own feet enough to carry them. He liked his legs. He trusted his legs. And he knew it wasn’t their fault that he couldn’t trust them now – it was the death-contraptions that had been strapped to them. His fingertips were already starting to feel cold, because he’d been clinging here for the past five minutes. 

Sam skated around him and stopped in the middle of the turn, because he was just that kind of show-off. At least there weren’t too many awed onlookers around, Goodnight thought with a stab of satisfaction. This time of the year, people tended to flock to the newly-reopened ice rinks. They were not alone by any means, though: further in front of them were two men. Both were dressed in dark blue police uniforms, and their tight pants made Goodnight want to thank the force’s fashion designer profusely. Their belts were missing, as were their weapons, and they were currently getting a stern talking-to from a third guy, who’d introduced himself as “Just Red, and I am busy.” Because Goodnight preferred to keep his distance from people with striking Mohawks who could also kick him in the face with a roller blade, he hadn’t pressed the issue.

“Because sports are good for you,” Sam said.

“This isn’t sports,” Goodnight scoffed, tearing his eyes away from the trio to look at his best friend. “This is how we die.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Rollerblading never killed nobody, Goodnight. It’s better than our last date.”

Which had, of course, been Goodnight’s idea. He’d taken Sam out to his favorite restaurant and then maybe… come on a little too strong. The bouquet of red roses could have been excusable, maybe even the Champagne, but once the Mariachi had shown up, a good time was had by no one. At least he’d managed to call off the limousine before Sam caught a glimpse of it.

“On your left. And right,” called a different voice. Goodnight jumped.

Red whizzed past, so close the rush of air pulled at Goodnight’s sweater. His feet started to slide. He made a tiny, distressed noise and clutched the railing harder.

One of the policemen followed hot on Red’s heels. “There was blood on the floor!”

He didn’t even look up from where his eyes were fixed on Red’s back, and as soon as he was past he leaned forward, arms swinging as he picked up speed.

“Don’t listen to Billy, he sees bloody murders everywhere,” called the other policeman, directly behind him. His heavy, Mexican accent added a rolling cadence to the ‘r’s.

Goodnight cast a look over his shoulder and only relaxed when he saw that the track behind him was empty.

“See,” said Sam. “Totally harmless.”

“Tell that to your mother.”

“My mother is an excellent rollerblader, I’ll have you know. I learned from her.”

“That explains a lot, actually,” Goodnight groused. This would be why Sam was enjoying this so much. His mother had fallen gravelly ill when he was a teenager, and while she was fine now, she’d never be the agile, vibrant woman she’d been when they were young and dumb together in Louisiana. They’d had a slump back then, with barely any contact. That only changed when they moved into the same city to study and met, by accident, in a shakedown at a questionable student bar. Moving in together followed a little later, and falling in love was kind of inevitable, because…

“What if I trip and fall onto my face?”

“Then I’ll catch you.”

Yeah, that, exactly, would be the reason.

One by one, Goodnight tried to pry his fingers from the wood. It was slow going because his brain was screaming at him not to make such a stupid mistake, but every time he looked up he saw Sam’s confident little smile and something behind his sternum tightened. He wanted to keep that look on Sam’s face just a little longer.

In the distance, Red zipped over the red line he’d painted on the floor earlier and threw both arms up.

“Rematch,” yelled the policeman called Billy, without stopping.

Goodnight watched warily as they glided into the turn and back around onto their stretch of track. “I want to go home.”

Sam smirked. “But you haven’t had any fun yet.”

“A date is supposed to be romantic!”

“It will be once you let go of that and take my hand.”

Goodnight froze.

He had, of course, assumed that Sam reciprocated his affections. Why else would he agree to agree to go on another date with Goodnight after their disastrous attempt at having dinner together, after all? But this was… untouched territory. More than he could have hoped for, a small voice in his head whispered. Now if the ground could only stop trying to body-check him in the face...

“Goody. Stop looking down,” said Sam. “Take my hand.”

“I...” Goodnight sighed. “I can’t.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Conceptually, sure. Practically...”

Sam sighed. “Would I make you do this, if I’d think you could be seriously hurt?”

And that was just so Sam, wasn’t it? 

“You didn’t stop me from that poetry slam in senior year,” Goodnight pointed out weakly. He was shaking. He really, really didn’t want to let go.

Behind him, the rush of roller blades on the polished floor approached. He chanced a glance and saw Red and Billy, not quite head-to-head, with Red once again in the lead. He was like a fox on the run, always one step ahead, and not above cutting it close when the moment called for it. Both men were panting heavily. The other policeman idled behind them, with an entirely too amused expression for what could only be a thinly veiled suicide attempt. When he caught Goodnight looking, he sped up with a lopsided grin.

Goodnight took a deep breath. Then he let go and took Sam’s hand. His palm was dry, and his fingers sure as they wrapped around Goodnight’s.

Sam smiled. “Well done. I’m proud of you.”

He gave a little tug and Goodnight, abruptly unbalanced, let out a tiny, panicked squeak. “Sam! Sam, I’m slipping, I’m going to fall!”

Sam stopped immediately. Goodnight, who couldn’t control his direction or his momentum at all, barreled into him at slow-motion speed. He quickly threw an arm around Sam and held onto him, and, thankfully, Sam didn’t shake him off.

“You’re not going to fall, Goody. Focus on your center.”

“I’m more of a floaty, flowery guy,” Goodnight whimpered.

Sam chuckled. Then, because he was a real bastard, he skated backwards. Clumsy and helpless like a baby penguin, and probably about as elegant, Goodnight had no choice but to follow. Gently, Sam took both his hands and guided him along the wooden rink.

Gradually, with a lot of gentle coaxing, he managed to let go of one hand so they could skate side by side. It helped to have Sam so close. Every time Goodnight stumbled or slipped, he clawed at Sam’s shirt like he wanted to crawl into his skin. Which was – although he would never admit this out loud – at least a little bit enjoyable.

The same thing happened every time Billy and Red whizzed past, which happened at least three times. But at least they were slowing down a little, as their five – or six – consecutive races finally started to take their toll. So far, Billy hadn’t won a single time, but Goodnight had caught him staring at Red’s butt at least once.

Watching Goodnight’s feet become more and more accustomed to the idea of gliding rather than strolling, Sam tried to pick up a little bit of speed. Immediately, all of Goodnight’s progress evaporated. He flung himself at Sam. “Hey, no, stop!”

Sam caught him easily. “Hey yourself, baby-monkey.”

Goodnight blushed. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Come here.”

Sam gently extricated one hand from Goodnight’s death-grip and curled it around his waist. Even through the sweater, Goodnight’s whole side tingled from the touch.

They made it a few meters like this, when suddenly the Mexican – Vasquez, someone had shouted in between – whooped loudly.

Goodnight looked over just in time to catch the end of the last race. This time, for once, it seemed to be Billy in the lead. Red didn’t seem to care. He merely rubbed his sweaty face, and then they skated to the edge and staggered out onto the mats. A group of backpacks was waiting for them, together with a six-pack of beer.

Seeing his chance, Goodnight squeezed Sam’s hand. “A break?”

Sam gave him a suspicious look. “Will you come back out again?”

Goodnight winced. “Only because it’s you asking.”

Together, they made their way to the door.

“I gotta say, you held yourself admirably.”

“Pfft. Thank you, Chisolm.”

“Let me finish,” Sam snorted. “And since you fell only twice, I’m going to get you a drink.”

“My hero,” Goodnight said dryly. But he was feeling rather parched, so he let go of Sam once they were standing on solid, rubbery ground again. After a moment to cherish that fact, Goodnight went to sit down. His feet ached. He wanted nothing more than to unlace his skates and take a few steps unhindered by the rollers on his feet, and then maybe massage his toes one by one. But if he did, he knew he wouldn’t put those murder weapons back on, and he’d promised.

“Excuse me,” a voice to his right said.

Goodnight looked up. It was Billy. He gave the policeman a smile. “Hello, good sir. I guess we haven’t been introduced so far. Name’s Goodnight.”

“Billy Rocks.”

They shook hands. Billy nodded towards the door at the other end of the hall that led to the adjacent bar. “So, you and Sam, eh?”

Goodnight blushed. This dating thing had been – and still was – entirely his idea. They had been best friends before everything started. A week ago, he would have said ‘no’ without hesitation. He was certain Sam would still say it, equally without hesitation. He still wasn’t sure what Sam was getting out of it, in the end. “Well, not really.”

Billy eyed him suspiciously.

“We’re not quite there yet,” Goodnight repeated, trying to fight down the tingling heat that gathered in his belly.

Billy’s eyebrow rose. “I’m sorry to have assumed.”

“No, no, that’s fine. We’ve been friends for ages, so I guess it looks like we’re closer than we are. The dating is new, though,” Goodnight explained hastily. His face felt like it was on fire, and his thoughts suddenly caught fast on the idea of him and Sam, _together_. Intimately.

And while he had known on an intellectual level that ‘becoming a couple’ was usually what it all lead to, he hadn’t really thought about what that would mean. If things went well. Other people talking to him about it, for example, or them doing couple-y things. Like… _sex_. The sudden thought hit him like a ton of bricks. A hot flush spread up his neck.

Billy nodded thoughtfully, and looked like he wanted to say something else. Like ‘Who are you kidding?’

Goodnight frantically grasped for a switch of topic. “So, you and Red, huh?”

Billy’s eyes widened. “What?!”

From the vehemence of his reaction, Goodnight wondered if he was going to get punched in the face. But under his olive complexion, a dusting of red settled onto Billy’s cheeks.

Goodnight lifted both palms. “Okay.”

“I…,” Billy stopped, then collected himself. He met Goodnight’s eyes. “Sam is a good man. I haven’t known him for long, but I know that. A good leader.”

“Uh,” said Goodnight. “Wait. So you’re from his unit?”

That got him the first real smile. “Only on loan. But I like him, and I’m glad he has someone he likes, too.”

“I… yeah?”

“Hey, Billy!” called Red.

Billy jumped up immediately. “Excuse me.”

Goodnight waved. “Don’t let me keep you.”

Sam was coming up to them, anyway, and now that Billy had woken the sleeping lion, Goodnight had a hard time keeping his thoughts in check. Moments of their date flashed in front of his eyes: Sam’s smile and Sam’s voice and Sam’s steadying hand on the small of his back as he guided Goodnight around the rink.

But those were all things one friend would do for another, especially one as inexperienced with skating as Goodnight.

Would Sam even want him in that way? Their date had been ‘official’, of course, they had talked about it, but Sam hadn’t made a pass at him. It had been fine with Goodnight. He’d wanted to show his friend a good time and just assumed Sam didn’t want to do anything on the _first_ date.

But they were past that now.

“Earth to Goodnight. Anyone home?”

An ice cold prickle touched Goodnight’s cheek. He flinched. In front of his face, close enough he had to squint, floated a can of soda. “Uuh. Thanks?”

He took it and his fingers brushed Sam’s. Even with the cold biting into his palm, a hot shudder trailed up his spine. Carefully, he placed the can beside him. “Can we talk for a moment?”

“Goody? Sure.” Sam sat down beside him. His eyes crinkled in amusement. “Was Billy mean to you?”

“What? No.” Goodnight shook his head and blushed. “I actually didn’t mean here. Can I talk to you in private?”

Sam’s expression morphed into one of concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” said Goodnight and stood up. He wobbled on his skates like Bambi, and managed to move at about the same speed. He grabbed Sam’s arm. “Come with me.”

He led Sam as far away from the rink as possible, even though he was pretty sure none of the skaters were paying much attention to them. Billy was trying to win a second race against Red, while Vas egged him on between bouts of cackling laughter.

The rink had a small tribune on the other side, on account of the fact that the whole arena could actually be transformed into an aula. Next to the tribune, in the furthermost corner from the door, towers of chairs were stacked against the wall. That was were Goodnight stopped.

“I need to talk to you.”

“So you said,” Sam said mildly. He didn’t say anything else.

Goodnight swallowed. He ran a hand through his hair.

Sam cocked his head. “You know, I’ve never actually seen you at a loss for words. Is it that bad?”

Heat shot into Goodnight’s cheeks. “Not at all, it’s… I was wondering if you wanted. You know. The next step?”

Sam raised a skeptical eyebrow. Before he could say anything, Goodnight ploughed on. “I. I mean, we already live together, we know we get along, so there’s really no reason to wait, right?” Goodnight winced. Oh, yeah, what a great reason! Where was his gift with words when he needed it? He felt like the proverbial bull in a china shop. “And it’d be logical to at least try it with a potential partner before you commit, so we should. Maybe?” He thought he really ought to shut up now, but his mouth didn’t seem to have gotten the memo. “I mean, have you ever, you know, done it with a man?”

 _Ah, damn!_ Goodnight bit his tongue.

Sam stared out at the rink, eyes narrowing, and Goodnight didn’t need to follow the gaze to know he was looking at Billy. He turned back to Goodnight. “You want to have sex with me?”

Goodnight flushed hot all the way down to his toes. His face, by now, must be resembling a tomato more than a human. But he couldn’t say ‘no,’ could he? That would be a lie.

Sam’s eyes widened imperceptibly: he was surprised, but he was trying not to let it show. Goodnight knew that look. Sam wasn’t fully on board with the idea, but he was intrigued. “Alright. But not here.”

“I…,” Goodnight stopped and looked down. His feet were still encased in hard plastic. His tongue was tied. His mother and grandmother would slap him over the head if they could see him right now.

A warm, broad hand settled on his shoulder. Sam was a little taller than him, and wider, more muscled. The touch felt heavy and comforting.

“We don’t have to,” Sam said softly. “Just because someone tells you it’s how things are supposed to go–”

“That’s not it! God, Sam, you think that’s what happened? No, it just feels weird to have a ‘romantic evening’ at home when we’ve not even,” God, his cheeks felt like they might burst, “Kissed.”

His gaze caught on Sam’s lips. This was also something he hadn’t let himself think about before, unlike the hand-holding.

“That’s your problem?”

Sam beckoned him over. Goodnight stepped closer, and as soon as he was in range, Sam grabbed him by the hips and swung him around to press him up against the wall.

“Sam!” Goodnight yelped.

Sam licked the sound from his lips and then he was all over Goodnight’s face, pressing their mouths together. Goodnight gasped, and there was Sam’s tongue, sliding along his lower lip and inside. Self-assured and matter-of-fact, as if it weren’t a big deal. As if this wasn’t the first kiss Goodnight had been dreaming off all his life.

Sam’s tongue curled around his and Goodnight forgot any semblance of thought. His hands flew to grasp Sam’s arms. His eyes fell closed. He tiled his head and rubbed his tongue along Sam’s, tasting oranges and acid. There were noises caught in his mouth he couldn’t – and didn’t want to – stop. They came out muffled between them.

When Sam finally pulled back, Goodnight was panting. Hot puffs of air stroked against his wet lips, and he felt the blood burn in his cheeks again. Further down, another part of his body had also taken notice, lying heavy and insistent against his thigh. It was thankfully less obvious in his thick, constricting jeans.

Goodnight leaned against the wall, not trusting his knees to carry him. He always went boneless when kissed – especially when kissed _like that_.

Sam stepped back, eyes locked on Goodnight’s. “We good?”

Goodnight gaped. Then, remembering his mother’s stern words about how unflattering that looked, he closed his mouth. His heart was beating hard in his throat. “Jesus, Sam,” he rasped.

Sam’s eyes darkened, and his gaze lingered to Goodnight’s lips like a caress.

Goodnight’s skin prickled.

Sam leaned in to whisper into his ear. “Let’s go home.”

 

–

 

The house, when they came home, was very quiet. Not only their apartment but also the ones above them and below. The only sound was the rumble of a car in the distance, passing on the street below like a jungle predator in the dark of the woods.

Sam called dibs on the shower and disappeared into the bathroom. The rush of water followed quickly, spreading to hit the tub in a splatter of drops – or maybe Sam’s body: the smooth, dark expanse of his skin; his well-defined pecs Goodnight had already had the chance to admire in the gym; or the valleys defining his abs and his strong legs. Some day, showering might be something they did together. Their bodies would slide against each other in the wet, warm steam, and they would distract themselves by tracing the rivulets down each other’s skin.

Goodnight’s cock jumped. Time to think of something else. Only he couldn’t really focus on anything except for Sam walking in front of him, Sam’s fingers in his palm, or the way his black jeans left preciously little to the imagination, especially around the back.

By the time it was Goodnight’s turn to shower, he was a nervous, aroused wreck. He waited in the kitchen until Sam had disappeared into his room before hurrying into the bathroom. He immediately locked the door, undressed mechanically and stepped under the hot spray, resolutely ignoring his hard-on.

When he was done, he wrapped the towel around himself. He briefly contemplated showing up at Sam’s door just like this, but chickened out before he got the chance. Maybe Sam had changed his mind? There must have been a reason he hadn’t broached the topic, after all. Maybe he’d remembered it in the meantime and decided this was a bad idea?

Goodnight marched into his room and got dressed as fast as he could. Just as he was done, there was a knock on the door.

He looked up and there was Sam. His best friend Sam, but also the man who’d pushed him up against the wall to kiss the breath out of him, fiercely, just an hour ago. They were starting to blend together, and something hot bloomed in Goodnight’s belly, opening like a flower in the gentle morning wind. It spread through him syrupy and sweet in the face of Sam’s smile.

Goodnight felt so utterly out of his depth.

“Got some stuff from the kitchen,” Sam informed him, passing Goodnight a bottle of red. Their fingers brushed warmly on the dark green glass.

Goodnight cleared his throat. “Good idea.” He cradled the bottle against his sternum. “Anything else?”

Sam grinned, reached for the hallway cupboard and came back with a box of truffles and a bar of their favorite dark chili fudge. “Chocolate?”

He gestured invitingly towards the living room. Goodnight nodded and followed him.

Immediately, he realized Sam must have been in here while he’d showered: the curtains were drawn to shut out the city, and the lamp in the corner was set to low, casting the room in a soft, yellow light. From the speakers by the TV, swaying instrumental music floated through the room; bamboo flutes and ocarinas, gentle as the wind in the trees.

Goodnight’s nerves felt completely frazzled. He stared.

Sam tapped his shoulder. “Are you going to swoon?”

Goodnight looked up, met Sam’s amused eyes and felt the tension between them crack and crinkle. His lips twitched a little. He took a step towards the couch. “Well, since you’re being such a gentleman I shall endeavor to be a true lady tonight. I hope you have salts around to make me smell.”

He sat down with a flourish.

Sam laughed. He plopped himself down next to Goodnight, close enough for their knees to brush, and switched on the TV. The movie was already queued up on their shared Netflix account. He hit ‘play’ and a logo flipped over itself on the screen.

Goodnight felt the inexplicable urge to squirm.

He tried to focus on the movie, but it could have just as well been in Chinese. He didn’t understand a thing. The next time he looked down, Sam’s hand was in the gap between them, so much closer to Goodnight’s thigh.

Goodnight felt a shiver under his skin. It wasn’t enough to show, but it still made his limbs shake. He was so keyed up, he almost couldn’t breathe with it. He wanted to say something – do something – but Sam hadn’t looked away from the screen once. Goodnight didn’t want to call attention to it when it was nothing, or a coincidence. Because then Sam might move.

Sam’s pinky finger brushed the side of his leg. Everything in Goodnight seized up in shock, but he managed at the last moment not to jump. Instead he carefully pressed back, and then Sam’s hand was on his thigh. His fingers splayed wide, rubbing slightly. The patch of his warmth radiated through Goodnight’s pants.

He sat as still as he could, hands clasped in his lap. He _tried_ to focus on the TV, but he couldn’t help trying to steal little glances at Sam. His breath seemed to stop in his throat. He wanted to take a sip of wine, but the glass was on the coffee table and getting it would mean moving, however little, and he didn’t want to disturb their only point of contact. Moreover, he didn’t want to accidentally signal that the touch was unwelcome. Because it really, really wasn’t.

Sam’s fingers stroked lightly against the inseam of his pants.

Goodnight made a strangled sound. “Sam?”

“Goody.”

Sam’s eyes were so dark, and the room was too, and any flicker Goodnight thought he could read in them was probably just a reflection of the TV screen. But Sam’s face was so close – with the hand-thing going on, he’d completely missed Sam’s body following. He had turned to Goodnight and he looked so calm. So sure. Goodnight suspected Sam’s attention had never been on the movie at all.

Sam leaned forward a little, into Goodnight, and tilted his head to telegraph his intention.

Goodnight froze.

Their mouths met, warm and dry. Then they were pressed together, lips slicking and tongues sliding, and Goodnight’s hands flew to grab Sam’s shoulders because he needed something to hold onto. He smelled the wine on Sam’s breath, tasted the chocolate sweetness.

Sam’s hands curled into his sweater at the small of Goodnight’s back and Sam leaned into him – no, onto him. He pressed Goodnight back against the couch with his body.

Goodnight opened his mouth and a small noise escaped, high and needy. His belly fluttered like crazy. He could feel the rush of it on his skin, just like before. It was heady, like floating and free fall combined. His heart was threatening to beat out of his chest, but he still felt _elated_. Because Sam was kissing him. Sam apparently _liked_ kissing him.

Goodnight slid his hands along Sam’s upper arms, over his shoulders, to wrap them around his neck. Suddenly feeling daring, he slid a leg onto the couch and over Sam’s thigh.

Sam nipped at Goodnight’s lower lip and then his tongue, making him gasp. Then he gently lowered Goodnight down onto the couch. The cushions shifted and gave underneath him, and Sam crawled over him, in between his legs. Their chests were flush together now; Sam’s weight pressed Goodnight down. The air rushed from his lungs and it felt good, so good, to have someone’s weight on him this way.

Sam kissed him again, eyes half closed, and Goodnight hooked his nails into the seams of Sam’s belt loops and tugged. Not that he didn’t like the gentle touches and languid kisses, but the anticipation simmering under his skin kept him from sinking into it. It thrummed through him like a violin’s string just pulled.

He wriggled his hips to find a more comfortable position and – who was he kidding? – tried to check whether they were on the same page.

Sam pulled back and stroked a thumb along the soft of his cheek.

“Goody,” he said, and that one word carried so much more.

Goodnight shuddered. He turned his face and kissed Sam’s palm, trying to calm his nerves. “How come you never lose your cool?”

Sam’s eyes roved over his face, searching. “We don’t have to, if you’d rather not.”

“We’re already on the couch-bed, Sammy-Boy,” Goodnight said, a nervous sound on the edge of bubbling over. “You’re not as subtle as you fancy yourself to be. And I still want to, if you want to.”

Sam chuckled. “I’ll set it up if you get us some pillows. And supplies.”

Goodnight wondered if he would be seeing Sam blushing if his skin-tone had been just a little bit lighter. But then Sam rolled off him and the cold rushed in and oh, that wasn’t a feeling he liked at all. Instead of protesting, he got to his feet. He was swaying a little. He looked down at Sam, catching his eyes flickering up the inseam of Goodnight’s pants.

Goodnight’s shuddered. He couldn’t help it: they might have been friends, but when he looked at Sam now it felt so different, so heated, and the heat sat heavily in Goodnight’s belly, urging him to run while at the same time he wanted nothing more than to throw himself into Sam’s arms and allow Sam to take care of him. As it was, he didn’t do either. He staggered out of the living room and into his bedroom, around the bed, to fumble for the nightstand drawer. The topmost one was still open from where he’d contemplated bringing lube earlier, but it had seemed so stupid. So _presumptuous_.

Now he grabbed the bottle instead of the small packs and got a handful of condoms before he could think better of it. Sam wasn’t his size – at least not from the accidental glimpses Goodnight had managed to sneak over the years – but maybe he wanted, maybe he wanted Goody to–

Goodnight bit his lip to quell his growing agitation and yanked the comforter off his bed, folding it loosely despite the bedding spilling out over his hands. Then he took the pillow and trotted into Sam’s room, decidedly not glancing at the open living room door.

He knew where Sam kept the condoms, thanks to passing out in here enough, so he didn’t have to root around his things. Since he didn’t have a nightstand – only a laptop desk and a charging station for his phone – they were in his desk drawer. In a small box that was almost empty, which startled Goodnight for a moment. He forced himself not to think anything of it, grabbed what he could find and collected his comforter again. Then, after only a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed Sam’s too, because it seemed… right. Sam’s smell wafted around him, that hint of spice. Maybe they wouldn’t need it, but if they stayed in the living room… something in Goodnight clenched at the thought of not being prepared.

He still felt a little stupid as soon as he stepped back into the living room and spotted Sam waiting for him on the former-couch-now-bed. He was barefooted, the strong line of his shoulders relaxed, completely at ease with everything they were doing. ‘Cool’ with everything they were _going to_ do.

Goodnight stared. Somehow, it hadn’t even occurred to him to expect this – he hadn’t known what to expect at all, but it wasn’t quite _this_.

Sam smiled at him. The TV was off now, and instead he had turned on the small standing light in the corner that gave off a soothing, golden, mostly indirect glow behind a sand-colored lampshade.

Goodnight approached the couch and put the mountain of bedding down. Then he reached into his pocket. The crinkling of the wrappers made him freeze, realization hitting hard. He’d taken more than one. _That_ had been presumptuous. Goodnight’s cheeks lit on fire. “Err.”

The couch creaked. Then Sam’s shadow fell over him. “Goody,” he said gently, sounding fond and exasperated at the same time. He cupped Goodnight’s cheek and tilted his head to kiss him, and his other hand toyed with the hair at the nape of Goodnight’s neck. He was holding back, this time, less passionate and more sweet, but Goodnight could still taste the demand on his tongue. It was so Sam, the way he kissed.

Sam’s arms closed around him, drawing their bodies together. He was strong, all right, all muscle where Goodnight was scrawny, and this time he could feel something insistently prodding his belly.

Sam’s hand fisted in Goodnight’s sweater. “You maybe wanna take this off?”

His tone was rough. He definitely wasn’t unaffected by what they were doing, but he kept himself in check, and the hint of control chased shivers down Goodnight’s spine.

“I am feeling rather hot under the collar,” he replied breathily.

Sam’s gaze dropped to said collar, catching on his throat, and then he reached for the hem of Goodnight’s sweater and pulled it over his head. For a moment, the world went dark and fuzzy soft. The shirt he wore beneath rode up, and then Sam’s hands were there, taking full advantage of the exposed strip of skin.

Goodnight whimpered and shuddered, pressing into the touch. The sweater dropped to the floor in a rustle of cloth and then Sam’s mouth was on his neck. Goodnight couldn’t do anything but tilt his head back and moan with every gentle suck and bite.

A hand trailed up his leg and over his hip. Warm fingers stroked his skin, and slipped under the waistband of his trousers. Goodnight lifted his hips to help him. As soon as the garment was discarded, he, in turn, reached for Sam’s belt buckle. He didn’t even bother pulling the belt from the loops, he merely popped the button and dove for the zipper beneath, desperate to get it open.

Sam’s pants quickly joined his on the floor.

Hands worked down rows of shirt buttons at unfamiliar angles. They fumbled and got caught up, stopping in between for more frantic kisses. Goodnight’s lips were slick and warm when he pulled back from Sam’s mouth to mutter. “Why are you wearing so many clothes?”

Sam huffed. It was an amused little sound. He drew his fingertips down Goodnight’s open shirt-front and pushed the fabric aside until he could rub a nipple.

Goodnight gasped. He tugged at Sam’s sleeve without meaning to.

Sam sat up, shook out his cuffs and shrugged the shirt off. He was bulkier underneath, and strong, with definitely more muscle definition than Goodnight’s scrawny self could ever dream to have. He prodded Goodnight, tugging at his shirt. “Come on, off with this.”

Acutely aware of Sam’s burning gaze on his skin, Goodnight did as told. Even though he was still wearing underwear, he suddenly felt exposed. The bulge in his shorts was painfully obvious. He couldn’t help it if he wanted to: a handsome man was rubbing up against him; his body wanted in on it. But so did Sam’s: Goodnight’s eyes dropped down to catch on the shadows playing over his friend’s dark blue boxers, stretched taut. He fell silent, staring.

Sam hooked a thumb into the waistband of his underwear and tugged a little, revealing just a little strip of skin and another centimeter of his happy trail, growing thicker and darker towards the center. He chuckled.

Goodnight’s eyes snapped up. He caught the glint of Sam’s teeth, the lick of his rosy tongue. “Let me,” he licked his lips. “Let me help you with that.”

Sam stilled.

Carefully, Goodnight slipped into the space where his finger stretched the fabric. He looked up quickly and then down again and tugged before it could get weird. Before what they were doing with each other could fully register with him. It felt like if he were to stop and think about it, something would happen. What they were to each other was obviously changing right now.

And then the tension in the fabric snapped and the boxers slipped over the head of Sam’s cock. All of Goodnight’s thoughts ceased at once. He let go of the fabric and it slipped further without aid; or maybe Sam’s hands were doing it. Goodnight couldn’t see, because his eyes were fixed on Sam’s dick.

He’d seen it before. Of course he had. But never like this. It wasn’t so different from his own, except that it was uncircumcised – obviously – and dry, so far. It was in a decent state of hardness, with dark hair curling around the base and lower, towards his heavy sack. Sam’s balls looked heavier than he remembered, but then again, he’d never been quite this close before.

Ere Goodnight could move, Sam’s hand was there. It curled around his dick and gave a slow, lazy upwards stroke.

Goodnight drew a sharp breath. “Sam,” he whispered, then bit his lip. He already sounded wrecked.

Sam leaned in and put a hand on Goodnight’s arm; the same one that had just been on his dick and oh damn, that shouldn’t be such a turn-on. “You’re up.”

“Sure am,” Goodnight’s mouth said before he could stop it.

Sam chuckled. Then he reached for one of the folded comforters and offered it to Goodnight, in lieu of the pillows, which had all fallen to the floor… sometime in between.

Goodnight instinctively spread his legs. Sam’s hand landed on his knee, stroking upwards. It caught on the hem of his own red briefs and moved to the waistband to get a good grip. He pulled the underwear down in one smooth movement and cooler air rushed to meet Goodnight’s straining dick. His cock flopped onto his belly, stiff and heavy and glistening at the tip. Goodnight’s cheeks heated: he’d always been faintly ashamed of it, how much the touch of a man could affect him, even when they weren’t doing anything yet. How much he _liked_ it.

“Hey. Hey, Goody,” said Sam.

Goodnight looked up at him. Shivers were running up and down his body and they only got worse when Sam leaned in. He lowered himself onto Goodnight to catch his lips in another searing, slick liplock. They were pressed together from head to toe, his thighs parted enough that his knee knocked into the back of the couch. Amidst the heat, their cocks slid together and Goodnight moaned, loudly, into Sam’s mouth.

Sam hummed, lips curving. He rolled his hips.

Goodnight twitched. “Sam,” he gasped. “Sam, you gotta do something.”

“Mmm,” Sam replied, nosing the side of his cheek and peppering kisses along his jaw.

Goodnight tilted his head back immediately, already greedy for the feel of Sam’s lips and teeth all over his skin.

Sam kissed down the line of his pulse to his collarbone and lower, leaving a wet trail to Goodnight’s nipple. He must have been anticipating Goodnight’s abrupt buck when he reached it, because he splayed a hand on Goodnight’s belly and held him down. The move lifted all pressure from his swollen cock as Sam gently sucked the nub of his nipple between his teeth.

“Sam,” Goodnight moaned, throwing his head to the side. His cock was pulsing gently against the lack of friction, another drop beading at the tip. It ran down and was caught between Sam’s fingers.

“Shh. I got you.”

The words were a rush of hot air against Goodnight’s wet skin. Sam moved to the other side, where the nipple had hardened from anticipation alone.

Goodnight shivered and reached down to touch himself. He needed some friction.

Sam immediately caught his wrists in his free hand and pinned them beside his head, the bastard.

“Sam,” Goodnight moaned, the one syllable drawn out long. He tried struggling, but Sam was stronger than him – which just turned Goodnight on in an entirely different way. Suddenly, the air in his throat felt too hot. There wasn’t enough of it to begin with, and his cock was leaking and leaking. He felt an ache below, inside: a shadow of pleasure, a potential he needed fulfilled. He curled both legs around Sam’s waist, pulling him in so they were together again. Sam’s dick rubbed into his belly.

“Oh, oh damn,” Goodnight rasped. He felt wrecked. He probably looked like it, because when he lifted his gaze, Sam’s eyes widened.

“Fuck me,” Goodnight whispered.

Sam stared at him, mouth slightly parted. His pupils seemed even darker than usual. And was that a slight dusting of pink on his cheeks?

Before Goodnight could double-check, Sam reached off the couch and came back with Goodnight’s blazing orange bottle of lube. Then he tried to sit up, and after a confused second Goodnight remembered to loosen the hold of his legs. It already took him a lot more coordination to work that out, and he felt cold with Sam’s absence, like he needed the reassurance of his body.

Goodnight shook his head against the feeling and his eyes found the pillows on the floor beside him. One more would come in handy, he thought fuzzily, and grabbed one. When he lifted his hips, Sam helped him stuff it under him. Then he checked the date on the bottle and the print on the front.

“Silicone, condom-friendly.”

Goodnight blushed. He always bought that one – he liked how slick it felt. And of course it lasted way longer than the water-based stuff.

Sam shrugged and squeezed a generous amount onto his outstretched fingers, two at once. He rubbed them against each other. Suddenly, he stilled. “Would you rather do this yourself?”

Goodnight paused. “No? Do you want me to?”

Sam relaxed. “No.” He smirked. “Down, boy.”

Goodnight snorted, but let Sam run a hand from the soft underside of his knee to the seam between his ass and thigh. Goosebumps rose in his wake.

Sam rubbed a dry thumb into the soft flesh behind Goodnight’s balls, inadvertently bouncing them on the back of his hand. Then he rubbed the first, slick finger up the crack to Goodnight’s soft, excited hole.

The lube had warmed from his fingers, so it just felt slippery when he rubbed it into the wrinkle of muscle. He started drawing circles, growing smaller and smaller before widening again, until Goodnight started expecting it and began to relax. Not that he didn’t know this part, from other dalliances. When the pressure increased and didn’t stop, blunt and hard until the soft rim gave, he wasn’t surprised.

Goodnight exhaled, staring up at the ceiling. Sam’s finger was inside him. Sam’s finger. It felt… surreal. Yet, the insistent twitching of his cock reminded him that it wasn’t: this was really happening.

Sam took his time. He didn’t push all the way in but crooked his finger, drawing the tip along the rim from the inside.

Goodnight let himself fall into the feeling. With anyone else, Goodnight knew he would have at least tensed. He tended to be nervous with new partners, but this was Sam, after all, his best friend. He trusted Sam. And he wanted to make it good for him.

Relaxed as he was, it didn’t alarm him when Sam started to pull a little harder, rubbing more vigorously. Satisfied with the looseness of Goodnight’s rim, Sam pressed a second finger against it. A wash of warmth traveled through his body. Oh, that was _nice_.

Goodnight’s cock leaked another drop of pre and he closed his eyes in pleasure.

Sam pushed his fingers inside, gasping. Goodnight blinked and looked down at him: his lips where slightly parted, and he was staring transfixed at something Goodnight couldn’t see; probably the point where they were joined. Admiring the contrast of their skin. He was probably red where he felt himself stretching wider and wider to accommodate Sam.

Goodnight wet his lips. “I’m ready.”

“You sure?”

“Been for a while.”

Sam rolled his eyes ever so slightly and then pushed his finger in to the knuckle. Goodnight gasped, mouth falling open, because damn Sam’s fingers were thick.

Goodnight himself had long, slim fingers that were always a little on the cold side. Pianists’ hands. But Sam’s had enough width to really feel good, and Goodnight wriggled his hips. “Oh, yeah. Do that again.”

Sam pulled out and thrust back in, and Goodnight twitched all over. He drew a sharp breath. That felt… tighter than usual. It wasn’t uncomfortable but it wasn’t really pleasure yet.

“Shh. Relax, Goody,” Sam mumbled, and did it again.

“Trying,” Goodnight gasped. His legs started trembling and he couldn’t seem to stop. He attempted to adjust his position, but it didn’t help. At least having one leg over the back of the couch was more comfortable than holding it up on his own.

“We have time.”

“No, no, I’m ready,” Goodnight insisted, panting. The solid line of Sam’s cock poking his thigh told him his friend must be hard enough to hurt. Not that it managed to take a chunk out of Sam’s impeccable self-control. But Goodnight didn’t want to wait any longer. “Let’s do the, the main event.”

Dark eyes regarded Goodnight carefully.

He tried to consciously relax his lower body, and seemed to manage it quite well: Sam drew his fingers out and reached for the lube again. He veered off to the side at the last moment and snatched up a condom.

Mesmerized, Goodnight watched Sam roll it on. Then he slicked himself up, his hand dark and glistening.

Goodnight swallowed. He was feeling tender already and Sam was big. It was hard to say how that would translate into actual penetration – sometimes it worked beautifully, sometimes it didn’t. But Goodnight didn’t want it to be over quite that soon, one way or another. He cleared his throat. “When… when you’re in, could you maybe wait a moment to let me adjust?”

Sam narrowed his eyes, searching Goodnight’s face. Whatever he was looking for – discomfort, maybe, knowing Sam, or a change of mind – wasn’t there. “Of course. Anything else?”

Goodnight grinned weakly. “Give it to me hard?”

Sam’s lips quirked. He splayed his hands on the insides of Goodnight’s thighs and just let them rest there, drawing little circles with his thumb. “Are you comfortable?”

The touch helped to ground him, putting him in the right mindset for what was to come. Gradually, Goodnight felt his body relax into the couch. He tilted his chin up. “Kiss me?”

Sam leaned over him and caught his lips with a smile, and then he was there, pushing in, hot and slick and insistent, until there was no room inside of Goodnight’s head for anything else besides the pressure. He arched off the couch, breath catching in his throat. He knew his cock was softening a little – he couldn’t help it, it always happened – but that was fine, because it felt so good to have Sam inside of him. There was nothing in his mind, in his body, but Sam: the girth of his cock, the heat radiating from his skin. The only thing between them was the slickness of the lube.

Sam’s control was stretching thin at the edges as he bottomed out, judging by the intense frown on his face, as he sheathed himself in Goodnight’s warm, willing body. Goodnight couldn’t look away from the way his best friend’s brow creased, the way he bit the inside of his cheek. Then he was all the way in, hips flush to the backs of Goodnight’s thighs and it was… more.

Their eyes met, and Goodnight knew with a sudden, overwhelming clarity that they couldn’t go back to being friends any more. Not after _this_.

He shivered. “Sam?”

“How are you feeling?”

“Terrified,” Goodnight admitted with a small, self-deprecating chuckle. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this fragile before, like the only thing tethering him to reality was Sam. He kept Goodnight from falling, much like he’d done this afternoon.

“Anything hurt?”

“No, Sam.” Goodnight smiled. “Really, really not.”

Sam rocked his hips: a tiny motion, probably entirely unintentional, but the tug on his rim made Goodnight groan and grind down. Grunting, Sam pulled out and thrust in and Goodnight’s body just… _gave_. The familiar pleasure of being fucked flooded through his body and he took it.

Thankfully, with his obvious enjoyment, he could also feel Sam relax on top of him. His weight and warmth blanketed Goodnight, and he started to move like he meant it.

Goodnight made a strangled noise that sounded suspiciously like a hiccup and felt his cheeks heat. “Sorry.”

Sam’s thrusts didn’t even falter. “Kiss me.”

Goodnight stretched his neck to reach him, one hand tangling in Sam’s short hair. He threw the other over his head for balance and clung to Sam with his thighs. “Sam,” he whispered between kisses, pitch going higher with every thrust that made the couch tremble beneath them. “Sam, Sam, Sam!”

“Touch yourself,” Sam panted. “I don’t mind.”

Goodnight shook his head. The throbbing in his cock was almost unbearable but he didn’t want to. He wanted to draw it out, feel as much of Sam as he could before their orgasms inevitably ended it all. Instead, he clawed at the armrest, head thrown back. His throat must be one long line and he wondered, briefly, if Sam could see the vibrations of the sounds he was making, or if Sam could feel them when he leaned down to lick and nip at Goodnight’s throat. New sparks went off at the base of Goodnight’s spine.

Sam felt so huge, he couldn’t even clench around him properly. He could only lie there and whimper and take it. That realization, more than anything, made the heat inside him swell into an inferno. Suddenly, there was nothing else left.

It was overwhelming, and Goodnight couldn’t cope. He started to babble. “Do you think we could work, Sam? Do you think we could?”

Sam’s gaze burned him down to his soul, and he didn’t slow down. “Do you?”

Goodnight canted his hips up with the help of Sam’s clever hands and the next thrust overtook him – so deep, so sure – and he cried out. His balls squeezed and his dick jumped. His body locked up as the world bled away under the prickling rush of pleasure. He could do nothing but ride the wave. “Yes!”

Sam, absorbed in his own pleasure, kept moving like he didn’t even notice, which made it even better.

Goodnight’s cry bled into a long, drawn-out whimper, soft and vulnerable in the aftermath.

Sam’s hand came up to cup his jaw, to turn his head up so he could thrust his tongue into Goodnight’s mouth while he was all the way inside him.

He gasped and came on a long shudder, and Goodnight could feel him pulse against the rim of his oversensitive hole. He wound his arms around Sam to hold him close – or maybe to hold onto him while Sam grunted into his neck. If he didn’t, he felt like he might shake apart. To be honest, he was also a little embarrassed by his volume.

Sam recovered quickly. He brushed a lock of sweaty hair off Goodnight’s forehead. “The neighbors should be used to it by now.”

“Mm,” said Goodnight. Then the words registered and his eyes widened. “What have you been doing while I was out getting dumped?” he asked.

Sam wriggled his eyebrows.

Goodnight gave him his most scandalized gasp. Which was even more ridiculous considering Sam was currently rolling off _him_. With a groan, Goodnight stretched and brought his legs down from the rather straining hold around Sam’s body.

They settled down side by side, with Sam half on top of him. Goodnight closed his eyes. While he was still feeling warm, dozing sounded like a great idea.

He wasn’t sure how long he actually lay there, floating in the afterglow, but his body cooled rapidly except in the places where Sam was touching him. At first those spots felt a little too warm, but Goodnight curled in nonetheless, hungry for touch. They were sweaty in the tangled comforter but that didn’t matter because it was Sam.

Eventually, he blinked an eye open and caught Sam looking at him. Why was Sam looking at him?

Goodnight looked back for a moment and then away. His eyes landed on Sam’s watch on the living room table. He must have taken it off when Goodnight went to get the supplies, which had probably been a good call. Now the hands told him it wasn’t even midnight. Huh. It felt like more than an hour had passed since he dreaded and longed for Sam’s touch on his thigh.

Sam followed his gaze and then flung a hand out for the remote.

Goodnight stretched again, feeling wary. “That was good,” he said slowly. “Great, even.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, flipping through the channels. He stopped on a documentary about orcas. “Do you want to –,” he stopped and cleared his throat. “We’ll have to do this again.”

He was carefully not looking at Goodnight. Which was maybe a little… cute.

Goodnight pushed a hand into Sam’s short, dark hair. “Maybe in half an hour?”

That startled a laugh out of Sam. His grin widened, white teeth glowing in the dim light. “If you can get it up by then.”

Goodnight’s jaw dropped. “You’re older than me!”

Sam dove in to kiss him, shutting him up, and Goodnight melted into him. Something tender inside him uncurled. He buried his face against Sam’s shoulder, breathing his smell. “Sam?”

“Mmm?”

_If I say ‘I love you,’ would that be too soon?_

Goodnight looked up at Sam and the words stuck in his throat. But unlike before, he didn’t feel like he had to say them to keep his partner around. Sam already stuck around before that. They might not be friends – they were definitely _more_ than that now – but they had time.

He leaned up for a kiss and Sam met him easily; sweetly. He didn’t say anything, but he had a feeling Sam heard him anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: wanderingsmith. Thank you so much! <3
> 
> Happy Holidays & Merry Christmas, everyone!


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